


tingles on my fingertips (under the influence)

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant's latest visitor isn't looking for intel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tingles on my fingertips (under the influence)

**Author's Note:**

> I am SO RELIEVED to have finished this fic. (I say that a lot, have y'all noticed? #writingishard) I got the idea for it at 3am like a month ago, got out of bed to write it, and then left it unfinished because I was too tired to write the whole thing. And then, naturally, the next morning I couldn't remember where I'd been going with it. *sigh* But now it's finally done! Yay!
> 
> Anyway! I hope y'all enjoy! Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

When the barrier clears to reveal Simmons, Grant is surprised—but only a little.

He sliced his wrist open a week ago, the first step in a complicated and admittedly reckless play that, if all goes well, will end with Coulson dropping the barrier and letting him walk right out of this horrible cell. It’s the long game—after the way the uprising went down, not to mention the attitude he pulled before deciding on this course of action, it won’t be easy to convince anyone he’s broken the way he needs to—but it’s not like he’s got a lot of other options, here.

Anyway, as expected, his team didn’t let him bleed out, and he got medical attention in time, as evidenced by his continued survival. He doesn’t _remember_ the treatment, but he knows it was Simmons who administered it; he recognized her stitches in his wrist the second he saw them. He wondered then if, having ventured into his prison once, she would return to confront and accuse him the way Coulson and May both have.

He actually figured on no, which is why this visit is a surprise, but he knew it was a possibility. So he’s not exactly _stunned_ by her appearance.

No, stunned is saved for a second later, when she opens a path in the barrier, darts through it, and then closes it just as quickly. Grant’s mouth clicks closed on the greeting he just opened it to deliver.

She’s in his cell. With him.

And she’s still holding the tablet that controls the barrier. It would take less than a second to get it away from her. He could drop the whole barrier and be out of here within the minute.

Instead, he takes a careful step back.

“Simmons,” he says, eyeing her carefully, “what are you doing here?”

She’s the last person he’d expect an assassination attempt from—especially considering just how recently she saved his life—but Coulson did say that Fitz’ll never be the same again, and he knows how weird those two are about each other. Maybe whatever’s up with Fitz has pushed her over the edge.

She doesn’t look like someone who’s about to try and kill him, though. She’s hugging the tablet to her chest, darting nervous glances at the top of the stairs, and if she keeps biting her lip like that, she’ll be drawing blood any second.

She’s scared.

“Simmons,” he repeats, a little sharper. She startles. “What’s going on?”

Her wild eyes meet his, and he tenses. He’s literally _never_ seen her this terrified before, not even when she was pleading with him not to drop that pod. He can’t think what could possibly scare her more than _that_ , but he knows it’s gotta be huge. Like, planet-ending huge.

By the time she opens her mouth, he’s already assessing his potential next moves, depending on what’s got her so worked up: another alien invasion, a planetary epidemic, the imminent outlawing of chemistry as a scientific discipline…

Which is why her panicked, “Coulson is trying to kill me,” catches him even more off-guard than it otherwise would.

“ _What_?”

Before he can press for any further details, the door slams open, and Simmons actually _squeaks_ when Coulson comes running down the stairs.

“Simmons!” he yells, and Simmons—unbelievably—throws herself to hide behind Grant.

There’s a brief, startled pause, where Coulson and Grant both take a second to absorb this completely ridiculous turn of events. Simmons’ cold fingers curl in the back of Grant’s shirt.

Then Coulson pins Grant with a glare. “Ward, if you hurt her—”

Grant raises his hands innocently.

“I haven’t done anything,” he says honestly, and then cocks his head, searching his former commanding officer for any signs of outside influence. “According to Simmons, you’re the one trying to kill her.”

At that, Coulson looks so helplessly frustrated that Grant is seriously tempted to turn around and hug Simmons. He spent _weeks_ trying and failing to get a reaction—any reaction at all—out of Coulson, and now he’s seen three entirely separate ones in less than two minutes. It’s beautiful, really.

“Simmons,” Coulson says, tone carefully patient, “I am _not_ trying to kill you.”

Simmons doesn’t respond, but if the way her grip on Grant’s shirt tightens is any indication, she’s not convinced.

“ _Jemma_ ,” Coulson says, and sighs when she remains silent. “Would you at least please stop hiding behind Ward?”

Grant glances over his shoulder. Hesitation is written all over Simmons’ face, and while he should probably keep out of this—letting Coulson see how much he’s enjoying this will only undermine the play he’s got brewing—he just can’t resist having some fun.

“It’s okay, Simmons,” he says, in his best reassuring-Agent-of-SHIELD tone. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

The look on Coulson’s face, at that, is _absolutely_ worth it.

Simmons is still hesitating, so Grant twists until he can get an arm around her shoulders, then uses it to steer her out from behind him. Once she’s level with him, he guides her into his side, and she latches on to him immediately.

Coulson’s eye twitches.

“Now,” Grant says, “why don’t you tell me what this is about?”

Simmons presses a little closer to him, keeping a wary eye on Coulson. “He wants me to go undercover. In HYDRA.”

… _That_ is the most ridiculous thing Grant’s ever heard.

Or at least it would’ve been five minutes ago. Nothing can really match the way Simmons opened this conversation.

“Wow,” he says, wonderingly. “He really _is_ trying to kill you.”

“I am _not_ trying to—” Coulson stops, maybe realizing that raising his voice isn’t gonna comfort her any, and takes a deep breath. Then he angles himself pointedly towards Simmons, blocking Grant out as much as he can when she’s plastered to his side. “Jemma, I’m not gonna force you to go to HYDRA if you don’t want to.”

She only clings harder to Grant. With her tucked into his side like this, he can feel her shaking. She’s seriously terrified.

“Pretty sure she doesn’t want to,” he offers helpfully.

Coulson ignores him. “Will you please come out of there so we can talk about this?”

Simmons looks up at Grant.

“You can stay as long as you like,” he promises, and very much enjoys Coulson’s glare.

Still, as hysterical as this is, he’s honestly starting to get a little concerned about just how scared Simmons is. She’s not exactly a shrinking violet—can be actually and literally described as _suicidally_ brave, in fact, considering her little jump last year—so this whole scene is pretty far out of character. Not to mention her running to _him_ , of all people, for protection.

There’s gotta be something more to this than Coulson having a terrible plan.

Coulson seems to realize it, too; after one last glare at Grant, he turns away, drawing his phone out of the inside pocket of his jacket, to make a call.

“Something’s influencing Simmons,” he says, shortly. The woman in question makes an offended noise. “No, she’s secure. But check the lab, find out what she was working on. Yeah. I’ll wait.”

“I’m not being _influenced_ ,” Simmons mutters, having apparently swung from terrified to insulted, “I’m being _sensible_. Just because I don’t want to die—”

“I’m not judging,” Grant promises, rubbing her arm. He didn’t realize how much he’s missed _contact_ like this until just now; he can’t seem to stop touching her. Luckily, she doesn’t mind—if she’s even noticed it. “But, just out of curiosity, is there anything in particular that makes you think Coulson has it out for you? It could just be another awful plan. He has a lot of those; remember Melbourne?”

“Ugh,” she says, apparently reflexively—not that he can blame her. Melbourne was a disaster and a half. “But, yes.” She tightens her grip on his waist as Coulson (still on hold, looks like) paces near the barrier. “Trip and May are already gone. He sent them on a mission and they _never came back_.”

At that, Grant’s hit with so much temptation that he’d swear his heart actually stops. May and Trip are definitely the biggest threats on the team (and he doesn’t think it’s out of line to call Trip part of the team; in fact, he has a very annoying suspicion that Trip is his replacement), and if they’re not on base…

The tablet that controls his cell is still inside it with them, right there where Simmons dropped it, a few inches away from his left foot. He could bring down the barrier, take Coulson out while he’s distracted by the phone, and make a break for it.

He could get out of this fucking cell _now_ , today, right this second, instead of waiting weeks—or even months—for his game to play out. He wouldn’t have to depend on the team reacting to his every move in exactly the right way, wouldn’t have to risk his life on false suicide attempts. He could just be _free_ , no further manipulation required.

For a second, he’s so tempted he can’t even breathe.

But Simmons’ fingers dig into his side as Coulson paces even closer, and it pulls him out of his daydreaming. He doesn’t know anything about this base—doesn’t know his way around it, doesn’t know what kind of manpower is present, doesn’t even know where it _is_.

Even without May and Trip around to screw things up, there’s a good chance an escape attempt would fail, and the only thing Grant’d get would be heightened security and less chance of being willingly released later.

It’s too risky.

Still, having the control tablet _right there_ is a little more temptation than he’s really capable of fighting. So, with one last glance at it, he steers Simmons over to his bed to sit. Not that that puts the tablet out of reach—as small as his cell is, there’s really nowhere to go to do _that_ —but it puts him far enough from it that there’s no way to make a grab for it without drawing Coulson’s attention.

“That does sound bad,” he says, a little belatedly, when he realizes that Simmons is looking at him oddly. “What about Fitz and Skye? Has Coulson hurt _them_?”

“I don’t know,” she says, worrying at her lower lip. “I don’t think so? But—but Fitz has his biweekly therapy off-base and he isn’t back yet.” She looks up at the ceiling like she hopes to see through it. “What if something happened?”

There’s a waver to her voice, and the way her eyes shine tells him she’s about two seconds away from crying. He’s getting whiplash from how fast her mood is changing, which is definite evidence of some kind of influence.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” he soothes, rubbing her back gently. “Try not to think that way.”

She tuts, swinging right back into annoyance. “And how am I supposed to avoid _thinking_ , Agent Ward?”

He can’t help a smile at the title, both at her bringing it out—something she used to do all the time on the Bus, _Agent_ ing him and Fitz and, once, even Skye to communicate her displeasure—and at her applying it to _him_. No one’s called him ‘Agent’ since…well, since before they found out he was a traitor.

It’s probably just whatever’s influencing her making her forget she hates him, but still, it’s nice to hear. Almost as nice as it is to have her tucked into his side, warm and soft and _human_ , the first real contact he’s had since he got dragged out of Cybertek weeks ago.

“Well,” he says, “it’s been a while since we talked. Why don’t you fill me in? Catch me up on what you—and the others—have been up to.”

Simmons blinks up at him, and for a second, he thinks she’s about to refuse—there’s a frown pulling at one side of her mouth, like she’s starting to consider just _why_ they haven’t talked in so long. Before she can say anything, though, Coulson bites out a (very mild; he’s weird like that) curse and takes off up the stairs without another glance at his under-the-influence biochemist and the murderer she’s basically cuddling.

Grant’s guessing that’s a bad sign.

Simmons must not think so, though; as the door at the top of the stairs slams behind Coulson, she sags into Grant’s side, clearly relieved. He holds his breath, fighting his own reaction as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Very well,” she says, breath ghosting over his neck in a way that hits him right in the gut. “Where shall I start?”

“The base,” he says. He lets his hand slip down her back until he can curl his fingers over her hip to tug her that much closer. “It’s a new one, right? Tell me about it.”

“All right,” she says, and proceeds to happily give him all the intel he could possibly want.

She never once increases the distance between them. He’s very, very conscious of that.


End file.
